The last time I heard voices was in the Vancouver airport. My flight had been delayed, meaning that I faced a 3-hour layover.  As a writer I value these stolen moments, the small cracks of life where I can put some words on a page. I found a quiet corner, uncluttered by fellow travellers. The nearest gate was closed so attendants and crew members were absent. It was like I stumbled upon my own private sanctuary.

I sat to write, and in short order I finished the devotion I was working on. I then set out to record an audio version. I took out my microphone, but no sooner had I started my recording when the speaker above me blared “Paging WestJet passenger John Smith.” I deleted the recording and started again. Halfway through my attempt the voice above me announced a gate-change. This was followed by the general reminder to not leave bags unattended.

Noticing my frustration rise, I stopped my recording and waited. 20 minutes passed with no announcement. I opened my computer tentatively, dug out my microphone, and began; “Why is God’s voice so hard to hear at times? What are some …We are now beginning our pre-boarding for Air Canada flight 345 to Toronto at Gate B16.” I slammed my computer shut.

The irony of trying to record a reflection on listening to God’s voice, while being frequently interrupted, is not lost on me.

One of the major sources of frustration in our spiritual lives is our perceived inability to hear Jesus’ voice. Eventually many of us simply decide that Jesus isn’t speaking. Perhaps he has grown disinterested, or we have not progressed to the necessary spiritual height needed to hear the divine whisper.  Whatever the case may be, or the way we view the capacity to hear Jesus’ voice, in the end the conclusion is the same; Jesus’ voice doesn’t make its way to us.

Wouldn’t it be great if hearing Jesus was equivalent to listening to overhead announcements? Before we are too quick to say yes, I wonder how we would respond if Jesus’ spoke to us in that manner. Jesus, after all, doesn’t always say what we want to hear. His words of love and grace are paired with the challenge to repent, to serve, and to follow him to places we would choose not to go. These words, while necessary and life-producing, can be also upsetting and stretching.

If Jesus’ voice was like that of airport announcement, would we not treat it the same way, an unwelcome intrusion into our pre-planned day?  

Perhaps, then, it is a good thing that Jesus’ voice doesn’t boom from the clouds. Perhaps this calls us to take the steps to quiet ourselves enough to catch his voice. The fact is, during my time in the airport overhead announcements were occurring all the time; multiple declarations were being made for my edification, knowledge, or travel, all of which I was oblivious to as I concerned myself with private matters. I didn’t notice these words until I created a quiet space around me, and within me. 

Life can be busy, and sometimes the noise of all that we must attend to crowds out the voice of Jesus. Either our lives become filled with other voices, or we turn our attention away from the constant voice of the Savior.  But the truth remains. Jesus speaks. His voice is constant and unwavering, and because he speaks, we can be confident that Jesus longs for us to hear. The very reason why his sheep know his voice is because Jesus is in constant communication with them. In fact, so fundamental is the act of speaking to the lordship of Jesus that he is known as “the Word.” Jesus is the spoken presence of God, bursting into our world. 

How might you go about hearing his voice?  Simply do intentionally what I did inadvertently at the airport: cultivate a quiet place within yourself where you can listen. It was in that corner that I was able to hear the voice I had previously unregistered. And the same is true for our faith lives. When we turn away from the activity and distractions of everyday life and turn our attention to Jesus, we create the capacity to hear the divine voice.  Jesus speaks, and you can hear him. It really is a simple as that.